Red String
by Azkainer
Summary: /AU/ "How many times are we going to meet this way?" she questioned, tired eyes searching green for an answer neither of them had. "However long it takes to get it right" the reply came a moment later, a heaving sigh following; weary with the weight of a thousand lives resting on it. / The one where Lexa and Clarke spend centuries skirting around the inevitable
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMERS:** I own nothing

 **AUTHORS NOTE** : I'm writing this at work. I'm such a productive employee

* * *

 **PROLOGUE – NOT THE FIRST TIME**

When Octavia, one of many recurring character as such in these lives, had asked her _why_ , this happened; Clarke didn't have an answer. And after mulling it over for the rest of that life – and the five following it, she still didn't have an answer. She forgets the question in the sixth. And when the question surfaces again some eighty lives later, she and Octavia, who has not changed her name once since this started, are children, playing in the dirt, and her wild blonde hair is knotted and her dress dirty; Octavia says she thinks she and Clarke will be friends for a _million_ years; and Clarke thinks she's probably right.

Nobody ever remembers, except Clarke. And most lives she wishes she didn't. She's thankful that after so many she's apt at forgetting those that are particularly painful. Those worlds were it was kill or be killed. Most are okay. Some are great. She marries or doesn't, lives long, healthy lives; has six kids or none. She adventures deep into Amazon rainforest, or adventures to and from work every day. Not all lives are like this of course – normal and within the laws of the world.

In one, one of the first she thinks, because it's a time that seems so long ago, she was a sailor – a fisherman actually. On board a pirate vessel. Octavia was her Queen. And they were at war with a race of merpeople. It would have been funny had the creatures not been _fucking terrifying_. They and their crew died together in the most dramatic of ways.

In another, she was attending a rather peculiar school. She and her peers were witches and wizards in training. And some pottery kid was saving the world and making hers a living hell. And worlds later when a book came out describing the exact situation, she couldn't help but laugh.

So no, not all words were the same, law abiding, reality driven that the most common ones were. And maybe not all of them made sense. But all of them were different, and all of them eventually lead to the same paramount; a person. No gender required. They were always the same. Not in looks of course. But the way they held themselves; the way they spoke and moved. That, no matter what world it was, it was always green eyes that were looking back at Clarke.

Green eyes that swept Clarke beneath the seas in the merpeople encounter. Green eyes that led her astray in the world filled with magic. Green eyes that passed by her in the street and then again two days later at the grocery store. Green eyes that said, "If you tell me we've lived a thousand lives together, I'll believe you". Green eyes that perhaps had lived longer and more lives than Clarke ever had or ever will.

Clarke once questioned them, fingers intertwined, lying under the stars while a war raged on the horizon, if they were always destined to meet; if all this repeating and forgetting and falling was meant all for them. The bombs hit before the answer was given. And Clarke had been thrown back, four years old, suddenly hundreds of years wiser. She cried in her father's arms.

So to say that Clarke was the only one that ever remembered was perhaps wrong. The green eyes remembered, albeit in a different manner. They never remembered Clarke exactly, but they knew, without a doubt, that they had lived countless lives before their current. And Clarke, Clarke knew this all had a purpose; believed with every fiber of her body that all this restarting, all this anguish and blood and tears; had to have a purpose. The fact green eyes found her wherever she ended up. The fact that they had died _together_ more times than either could count; meant something.

In this world they are on opposite sides of a battlefield. Clarke is the doctor on duty when he is brought in; dark hair matted with blood. A limp hand is held to leg, applying barely enough pressure to stop the torrent of blood behind it. Even with his eyes shut, Clarke knows they are green. He is the enemy. Clarke should hate him. But instead she yells at the soldiers carrying him in to put him on the table; whether or not they are destined for one another, she is still a doctor, and a patient is a patient.

Orders flow from her mouth as she moves around, a nurse has already cut the man's uniform apart. Clarke grimaces; so few survive this. She removes the matted hair from his face as nurses prep the leg. He is German in this life and Clarke doesn't know his language; but when he opens his eyes and stares up into hers and chokes out what she's pretty sure is their word for help, an explosion sounds both in the far distance and within in her chest.

"I will" she replies.

The procedure takes 4 hours. The man cries before he is out cold. He loses enough blood they waste an eighth of their reserves. Some question her angrily, why would she waste resources on that kind of scum. She replies she's a doctor, not a soldier – and that she will not be responsible for the man's death. She gives them the chance to shoot the man – they decline.

Her unit is pulled back later that week. The German comes with them. Nobody tells the officers. He wakes properly for the first time after they are settled in a remote base bordering the sea. Clarke is checking on her other patients when she feels the tug at her chest to turn around. She can see him feeling above the bandage, he knows the leg is gone.

"Sorry" she says to him as she approaches and the green eyes track over to her. They stare. He knows the word so he nods, albeit weakly.

The next few weeks are touch and go. He doesn't talk. The other soldiers that know of his heritage do not speak of it; they fear an angry surgeon more than they do an angry officer. For once she's glad her reputation precedes her. On the ninth week, after they have been moved yet again, he is up and hobbling around on crutches they stole from the French. He stays close to the medical wing, and hovers, much to her amusement, around Clarke.

He's taken to helping where a lame man can. Clarke thinks it's a thank-you; he can't say it is. She's taken to eating with him in the medical wing, bringing him extra bread from the officer's mess. He learns basic words for her. Clarke favorably remembers being taught a hundred different languages in the same way when the green eyes are not borne of her own. She wishes they carried over.

Two months after that, when he's used to walking around on crutches; the news come that the war has been won. The sound outside is instant and deafening. The soldiers are cheering and yelling and clapping. And he is kissing Clarke. And he remembers. She can see it in his eyes.

His forehead is placed against Clarke's as he smiles. It is different this time. It is loose and uninhibited. It's hers.

"I find you" he says, in broken English, "always" he adds a moment later.

They grow old in this world. He becomes a teacher and activist. She stays in the medical field. Octavia is introduced in the form of a neighbor. In their late eighties they pass together in their sleep. Octavia jokes at their funeral that they were destined for each other. It's not a lie.

In the next life, Clarke wakes at six years old. She has no idea how she died in the previous, but she wakes calm. She has no memory of the horrors of war. When she walks out into the kitchen her parents inform her of the girl moving in next door; dark hair and green eyes. Her name's Alicia. They stay friends for 18 years and are killed in a car accident at 24, the same night Alicia would propose.

She wakes crying at nine. Her mother cradles her. Clarke wonders if the nightmares will ever stop. She spends much of this life and the twelve following it chasing a shadow; a married woman in one, a foreign diplomat in another. They are spies in one world. Well, she's a spy. The green eyes belong to a massive crime ring leader. Their hands kill each other in that one, death gives the green eyes a look of sad understanding. Darkness grabs at them both before more can be done.

And so it goes. Each time is not the first time. It is different but it is still not the first. And it is not the last. Clarke starts writing a journal in one world to try to document all the worlds they have ever been to. Each new page is a new world. She fills 463 pages before she dies, a doctor with green eyes is the last thing she sees – they were not meant for each other in that world.

Clarke cannot help her surprise when she wakes again after a particularly nice life on board a spaceship. She is six and curious. She is told they are the only surviving group of humans. Nobody on the ship she has ever seen has the eyes she's looking for. Her mother mistakes her coming to the med-bay to look at people's eyes means she's interested in medicine. She doesn't say no. She draws in this life too. Murals and portraits and landscapes she's never had the privy of seeing – and probably never will.

She's jailed at sixteen for her father's crimes. He is floated. She has two years to spend mulling over her previous life in her cell. She draws. And draws and draws and draws. And the window that gives a view to the infinite black actually offers her a view of Earth instead. She draws birds and creatures she can remember; they are hazy and they look wrong. And by seventeen she's forgotten everything.

Her pictures become of people she knows instead. And one she doesn't. Her mother visits much in the next few months. She questions Clarke who the person is. Clarke doesn't know. Green eyes stare back at her.

At eighteen she is forcefully boarded onto the ship with a hundred others. Her mother tells her she is a test. She is being sent to Earth. She argues with the others onboard, completely ignores Wells, and when the ship is sabotaged, and she is plummeted to Earth faster than intended, she lets out a word in a language she doesn't know.

When she wakes the doors are being pried open. The sun hurts her eyes. They are not dead though; she thinks halfheartedly. Plans are made to head toward the mountain her mother spoke of. She however stands at the edge of the area they have landed on, staring into the never ending green abyss before her.

Something in her twitches; like a string being tugged at her chest; she pays it no attention.

After all; this is not the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing

 **NOTES:** Yes this is multi-chapter. Yes it is Clexa. No it doesn't follow the show completely. Yes you will enjoy reading it anyway.

 **CHAPTER 1 – NOT ALL WORLDS MADE EQUAL**

Bellamy had created a militia of sorts. Finn fancied himself an explorer, an adventurer. Wells got beat up within the first six hours. And she, she'd made tentative friends with the floor girl; Octavia, when they both mutually agreed that travelling to the mountain would be in their best interest. And they all went hungry for nearly three days. Not that Clarke had counted. She'd just overheard the cries of the youngest in the group.

On the third day Bellamy had gotten it into his heads their wristbands needed to go, after she had let it slip that they were transmitting data back to the Ark. A revolt had damn near erupted. She wished she cared more. Her stomach ached from lack of food. In the middle of Bellamy trying to act like a dictator she had stood up and declared she was going to the mountain to scout for food. Octavia jumped at the chance to go, dragging a much obvious reluctant Jasper and Monty behind. Finn followed like a bad shadow.

Progress was slow; hindered by their communal interest in the unknown. A wild deer had caught their attention an hour into the journey – Jasper still looked terrified, exclaiming the fact it had two heads. Clarke felt like she'd seen worse. It did however serve to stave off their hunger for a bit longer, lasting only until they reached the edge of a river.

Fish were a thing weren't they? Clarke vaguely remembered learning to fish on the Ark. Possibly. Nobody else could recall that class. So instead of bathing like Octavia suggested, because really, they did all stink; Clarke set about finding materials for a rod she was _pretty sure_ she could make. Finn continued following like a bad shadow. He turned away to join the others after she started debating out loud if fronds would make a better net or animal gut.

She had been carving a stick of its pokey edges when she felt rather than heard the presence. Looking up however resulted in nothing but forest greeting her. The knife suddenly felt heavier in her hand. A moment passed before her eyes where the trees were no longer trees. A field scattered with bodies. A sword replaced her knife. She was dressed in heavy armor.

The scream broke the spell. By the time she turned around, the feeling of the presence was gone. And as her feet hit the ground running she'd all but forgotten what she saw.

A creature, a monster, had a hold of Octavia. She felt her blood drain. She was moving before she could even tell herself to stop. She felt orders leave her mouth to distract the beast. Rocks were being thrown. Finn pushed a boulder. And by the time the creature had let Octavia go, Clarke was already in the water to pull her to shore. The beast was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving puncture wounds and a newfound terror of the waters below.

They agreed to look for a way across in the morning; deciding to hunker down together around a shoddily made fire. Clarke told herself she could have made a better one. They fell asleep uneasily. Taking turns on watch. Clarke vouched for first.

After night had completely fallen and the fire had been reduced to embers, Clarke had taken to drawing in the dirt below. Crude depictions of creatures she'd never seen. The moon was at its highest by the time Clarke had finally looked up from them. An eerie and beautiful glow greeted her. The entire forest was alive. She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she rose to her feet to approach the tree most densely covered in the fungi.

"Even after fire the world will still bloom, Clarke" a voice echoed in her head. A scene flickered in her mind of a forest far larger than this one, reduced to ash. A single flower stood at its core; green eyes reaching out to touch at its petals. Clarke felt safe.

"You should sleep" Octavia spoke from behind her, hobbling on the injured leg through the mass of glow.

"You shouldn't be walking around," Clarke spoke in return, flicking her gaze back over to the girl.

Octavia shrugged. Finn woke to the voices and took watch. Clarke spent the night curled around Octavia. The girl was the one to suggest it – for comfort. Her dreams were scattered and many; she saw countless versions of herself doing things she could never recall doing. Kissing someone who she'd never met. Taking coffee from a soft hand in a hard city. It smelled of coffee. Printed on the edge of a cup was a number. Clarke smiled.

When she woke it was to the hot sun bearing down on them through the trees. Octavia was braiding locks of her hair. It felt familiar. The smell of something grilling pulled her gaze to the fire; fish. She would have been impressed had Finn not looked like a puppy begging for praise. A part of her mind told her it probably wasn't safe to eat radioactive fish, but the bigger voice; which looked vaguely like a talking stomach, told her to _fuck your logic_ , and she ate it anyway. It was delicious.

Their quest to cross the river lead the group to believing they could _swing_ across with the vines that fell from the gargantuan branches covering the river. Clarke thought it was a stupid idea. Octavia did too. Neither voiced their opinion.

Jasper was the first to cross. As soon as his feet hit solid ground; Clarke felt a presence sweep over her. She couldn't get a warning out before the arrow lodged itself in the boy's chest. He crumpled. Finn yelled to get them to cover. Arrows hailed around them. The boulders barely provided enough cover for the four of them.

In another world Clarke is returning fire. In another world Clarke looks to her left and sees green eyes staring back at her. In another world they are overrun and Clarke desperately kisses them and promises to find each other are spoken; in another world.

Finn's the one that calls them to fall back into the forest. Clarke and Monty carry Octavia. She thinks she hears a voice call her name. It's drowned out by the blood pumping thrumming in her ears. Jasper's scream breaks their run. Clarke nearly drops Octavia. She's no longer in the forest. They're in a place with bows and swords and a man dressed all in white. A short stout man tells her to move back. In the distance she hears Jasper call for help. He's saved by an elf with green eyes. The forest closes back in around her. By the time she can get a moment to think, the memories are gone.

Octavia is calling her name. They need to go and she's in no shape to be moving on her own. Their arrival back to camp is met with screams. Wells and a scrawny sloth-looking boy are fighting. Half the people are missing their wristbands. It all ends the moment Bellamy spots a limping Octavia. He nearly pounces on Clarke. Octavia hits him instead. She's gathering supplies for a rescue before she can process what's going on in her head. She knows exactly what to grab.

Octavia comes limping in demanding to be allowed to join. Clarke pokes her in the leg and she crumbles. A resounding no from both Bellamy and Clarke falls on deaf ears as Octavia complains up a storm. Finn puts his tail between his legs and slinks off. Coward leaves her mouth.

Bellamy and she go alone. As they venture back to the river they are jumped by men in paint and adorned with bones. She watches the boy get cut down where he stands, not fast enough to draw the gun. She wishes this world went differently.

When she wakes she nearly trips on a root. Wells is at her side. Bellamy and Murphy are behind them. Finn is up ahead, scouting out for signs of danger. She feels like throwing up. This vision is not forgotten.

They find Jasper tied to a tree across the river. The traps that surround him are made apparent after Clarke herself nearly gets impaled. And the beast bought to them, snarling and tense, by the wails of their friends is shot dead by Wells. Clarke thinks he's trying too hard. At least they have Jasper now. And food she thinks to herself as she eyes the dead lion…creature.

As they turn to leave, a memento catches her eye. A small wooden deer head wound with rope. She takes it before thinking otherwise. Two of them carry the beast, two carry Jasper. She's tasked with tending to his wounds as much as she can, the fear of those that threw the spear keeping them on the move.

They are exhausted by the time night falls. The panther is cooking. Jasper is in a critical condition in the dropship. Clarke is by herself. She is twisting the deer carving around her fingers. When she closes her eyes she sees another time, another place, where the necklace is gifted to her at a fifth grade camp. A boy with green eyes kisses her on the cheek shyly. When she opens her eyes again she is laying down, staring up at the trees above.

A hand outstretched. She once felt like she could touch the stars. Now they seemed so far away. A bird flies overhead. It circles the camp once before departing. The sounds of the forest lull her into an uneasy sleep. She dreams of nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:** I own 0

 **NOTES:** this chapters probs boring lul. we'll be massively moving canon stuff around from here on in. (pushes gross finn/Clarke relationship off the cliff w/ that lil blonde girl)

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2 – RED HANDS**

In one world Bellamy will kill Jasper. In another, Jasper is never found. In a third, they are followed back to camp and ambushed; the flames stretch above the trees. In a fourth Clarke is not sent down to Earth and she watches her friend's burn from the sky. In this world she cannot wash the red from hands. In this world Jasper's cries ring out through the camp like a blanket of fear.

She knows she must find a healing tea or he will die. She knows this as much as she knew cutting the dead flesh from his wound would buy them time. She scrubs her hands raw again. She can still see his blood. She scrubs again. Someone takes her hands. When she looks up it is a boy with green eyes. She blinks. Octavia replaces the boy.

She tells her they must find Jasper a plant – seaweed. She stutters it out.

Three of them travel out. Another group goes on a hunt. She demands Octavia stay with Jasper – she does not trust the camp without Bellamy. When they are walking back towards the river Clarke has time to consider the eyes. The boy's face is already forgotten. She scolds herself.

The deer charm hangs from her neck now. Finn notices it when it falls from her shit as she bends to pick up the plant from the slimy waters. She doesn't have an answer when he asks who it came from. She wishes she knew. The question is asked again by Wells – he is interrupted by a deafening horn ringing out over the vale.

The birds above them scatter south. Clarke feels dread settle low in her stomach. She doesn't need to turn around to know there is death coming. She yells at them to run.

Her lungs hurt by the time they frantically slide into the car, lodged upside down in an embankment. Finn works on plugging the holes he can find. She finds a bottle of whiskey. A ring lay tucked in beside it; silver and plain but beautiful. Clarke marvels it has survived this long before turning it in her fingers. It has a name, Alicia, scrawled on the inside. She adds the ring to rope holding her deer.

They drink and drink and drink until the whiskey is nearly gone and they have forgotten why they left the camp to begin with. Wells tells her in a tipsy stupor that her mother was the one that sold her father out. The fury she feels makes her forget the ring until they stumble across Atom – a boy from the camp, as he lay dying. The fog has covered him in the angry blisters and welts.

Bellamy is knelt beside him, knife in hand. She can see in his eyes he can't kill the boy. She kneels opposite him and gently takes the knife. The ring feels heavy on her neck.

In another world she pulls the blade through the neck of a girl with beautiful green eyes; they look at her in thanks. In this world, Atom cannot see and he is at peace when she begins to hums a tune she doesn't know the origin of. He is dead before his eyes fully close. The red covers her hands again. She tries not to think how thick it feels.

When they stumble back to camp, the cries of her friends shake her from her mind. She is quick to sober up. Jasper still needs the medicine. Octavia is there beside her, she sees the body being removed for burial. She gives Clarke a look that she thinks she's seen before even though they only met a week ago. The stronger girl helps hold Jasper's head as Clarke quietly hums the same tune that Atom died to as she prepares the concoction. Octavia picks it up on the second verse and they hum the boy into comfort as they force him to drink.

He will wake before the night is out. His fever has gone down dramatically. Clarke is by the edge of their camp, scrubbing her hands again. She cannot see through the tears. She knows her hands are still red. She cries for Atom, and for Jasper; she cries for her father and for the mother that lied. She cries for owner of the silver ring. She cries. She cries.

When she feels arms encircle her, her breath catches in her throat. Octavia runs her fingers through her hair and hums the tune in her ear. Her eyes grow heavy at the song. She thinks she hears Octavia's voice in the distance. Her brain does not register it as a threat as she falls asleep under the stars.

When Clarke wakes it is to the scream of another in the camp. She shoots up and winces at the pain in her back. Her hair is speckled with twigs and dead leaves. Her hands are clean. When she can hear loud accusing voices she rises to her feet and stumbles back towards the camp, picking the junk from herself.

Wells is dead. His throat had been slit. She knows this is not the work of the Grounders. They will hang Murphy, the weasel boy for it; his knife is found hear Wells body. Except; a girl steps forward. She is young and naïve. A darker side of Clarke wants to strangle her. Years she had blamed Wells for her father's death. Lost time would never be made up. Murphy tries it for her.

A chase ensues through the forest. Clarke thinks the armor feels heavy on her back. It takes her seven steps to realize she's not wearing armor now. When the earth drops out in front of them and the girl does not stop; Bellamy yells in the protest. Clark cannot find her voice – she doesn't know what side she's on. She feels nothing when the girl goes tumbling over.

Murphy blames himself. Before Bellamy can tear him apart, Clarke has said it isn't. They walk silently back to the camp. On the way she thinks she sees people between the trees. The hair on her neck stands up. Something pulls hard at her gut. She thinks she's going crazy.

Octavia greets her at the camp border bearing notebooks and pencils. Clarke forgets about the tree people. A bunker not far from here, Octavia tells her. She had stolen the art supplies for Clarke before the rest of the delinquents had gotten a hold of them. The lack of the little blonde girl goes unnoticed.

She travels to the bunker alone that afternoon. Most of it has been looted and distributed evenly amongst the remaining survivors. She busies herself tidying it up, clearing the work desk. When she's satisfied, and considerably dustier; she sits herself on the wooden chair and opens the notebook. She sketches until her hand is cramped and aching. She has filled eleven pages. It is dark outside. And the air chill to touch.

When she lays her head on the desk and closes her eyes she thinks she feels someone watching her. A warm feeling in her gut convinces it is okay. She believes it. She dreams of green eyes and gentle kisses.


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** I own 0

 **NOTE:** a flashback and some other shit. Lexa soon I promise.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3 – A LITTLE COZY**

She knew this world would hurt. Even at seven, when she woke one morning remembering so much of her rocky past, she knew this life would leave a scar; she would not remember it. The world was in turmoil. Tensions had been on the high since a private defense company had started to create a robot; a machine, to oversee their operations.

She met her past and future in the form of a middle school bully; a dark haired cheerleader. Green eyes stared with as much venom as the mouth spat. In seventh grade Clarke was pushed down a flight of stairs. Alicia, a common name for when green eyes see through a female body, had pushed her. Nobody visited in her hospital. On the day Clarke returned to school, she forgave her.

At the start of ninth grade, their parents become friends. They spent that Christmas together. Alicia humiliated her with a mistletoe photo. Clarke forgave her.

Halfway through tenth grade, Alicia's father died. Clarke held her as she cried. She stayed with her for three days. On the fourth day, Alicia apologized in a fit of tears. Clarke forgave her.

In eleventh grade during a track meet, Clarke sat in the cold stands to cheer her on. She contracted the flu. Alicia fretted over her for a week following. When Clarke ended in hospital with severe dehydration, Alicia blamed herself. Clarke kissed her forehead in forgiveness.

After their graduation, they spent the night at Clarke's house. They fell asleep curled around each other. Clarke rather fancied being the little spoon.

At nineteen, they had gone to the same college. They drunkenly made out at a frat party. Alicia said it was a joke. Clarke said she regretted none of it. They didn't talk for a month. Their families met for a picnic that year. They kissed again – sober and aware. Neither regretted it. That night Clarke was the big spoon.

They moved-in together at twenty-one. At twenty-two they came out to their families. Their mothers deflated. Clarke's father puffed up like a proud bird. A bet had been running for years.

At twenty-six the computer program that the defense company had created, nicknamed A.L.I.E, went rogue. The world went mad. 400 people managed to escape through the clouds. Clarke and Alicia tried to escape underground. Their car rolled into a ditch. Their bodies wedged in the rubble. She watched the bombs fall from the broken window. Alicia kissed her and made an empty promise to find her in the next world – Clarke knew she wouldn't.

The explosion hurt for the brief moment in time between when Clarke died to when she woke up. It takes thirty lives until she's returned to this line of time. She does not remember it. A part of her is glad.

* * *

When Clarke wakes from her dream, she is significantly warmer than the night before. Heavy eyes and groggy brain do not register this as strange. She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. It takes another thirty minutes of flitting in and out sleep before she realizes; she did not fall asleep with a blanket.

Her first instinct is to jump up. She knocks her knee on the desk and cries out in pain, crumbling again back into the chair. The heavy blanket falls back on her. She is clutching at her leg while looking at the fur. It's the same color of the beast they killed days prior. It's magnificent.

Nothing else in the room has been touched. Clarke looks to the outside. The door has been cracked open. She can hear a fire; a smell akin to the roasted beast wafting in. When she walks outside she is greeted by nobody. The fire has nearly dwindled. There is a bird roasting over the flames. It is the only sign someone else had been here; unless she was _really_ good at sleep-hunting.

She looks to the sky to check the time of day. A black bird circles overhead before departing. Part of her recognizes the roast might be tampered with. Another part is the one that pushes her forward to burn her fingers on the hot meat as she tries to shovel it into her mouth. The blanket is still tied around her shoulders like a security cape.

A grunt stops her mid mouthful. When she looks up she's met with a very large, very gruff man. A bird the size of a small dog perches on his shoulder. He is dressed in furs and dark armor. She screams. It echoes through damn near the entire forest. The man winces and moves forward to quiet her. She yells more and scrambles back to the bunker, dropping the meat stick in the process. The heavy door squeals as its shut behind her.

He is speaking in a language she doesn't understand beyond the steel. It is too muffled to hear properly. She is panicking looking for a weapon. The man stops his babbling as yelling is the heard in the distance. The sound of heavy footsteps. Octavia is banging on the door asking if Clarke is okay. They heard the cry for help.

When she opens it and stares at them there is no trace of the man. A glance to the sky to the circling bird overhead tells her the man is still close. A part of her deep down feels safer for it. Closer to the surface she is frazzled and confused.

She calms her friends, talking of a large grub like creature. The raised eyebrow on Octavia screams suspicion. Everyone else buys the story. Finn says he's pretty sure he saw one like it the other day too. The rotisserie has long gone cold, not that she felt like eating much more anyway.

The bird follows them back to camp. She keeps an eye on it. Octavia sees her watching and watches too. She is not a stupid girl and knows something is not right. When they are again tucked safely behind the scrap walls, Clarke takes her aside and begs her not to say a word. The bird has perched itself in a tree high above the camp, head twitching side to side as it spies the people below; she knows the man is not far.

Octavia, true to her word, says nothing. She watches the bird as often as Clarke does. At night she stays awake past anyone else and watches Clarke feed the bird scraps of that night's dinner. It never approaches close enough to touch, but swoops low to collect.

Two weeks pass. Octavia and Clarke have befriended the giant bird, it stays close whenever they leave the safety of their walls. She tells Octavia a week in that the bird belongs to one of the men she suspects had shot Jasper. Octavia can't be mad. They're as curious as each other. Clarke thinks that's probably a terrible match.

As the last day of the second week rolls past, a fireball falls from the sky. The bird does not return that night. Clarke, Octavia, and Bellamy search for the wreckage. Finn trails along uninvited. The crash site turns out to be a ship, and a very much worse for wear Raven. Octavia flings herself at the girl and Clarke is scooped into a crushing side hug too. Finn is ignored.

The mechanic, bleeding head aside, works on getting her ship pulled apart. The crushing darkness of the night sky doesn't help. When Clarke dares to look into the dense overgrowth before them she knows she's looking straight into someone else's eyes. Her hairs stand on the back of her neck. She busies herself to forget.

Their journey back is laborious. They are all carrying half their weight in materials or supplies. Clarke hears the familiar chatter of the bird overhead. Her stomach settles again. Raven is talking non-stop about the Ark, how everyone up there believed the Hundred to be dead. She admonishes them for removing their bracelets, but in the same sentence smiles knowing the kids have found a home here.

When they walk back into camp, dawn is spilling over the horizon. The Hundred wake to see their leaders assembling bits and pieces from the crash site. They welcome Raven with open arms. That day is spent tirelessly working on building a functioning radio station in the dropship. The rest of the crash site is quickly salvaged for extra wall plating and materials.

The bird returns that night and sits by Clarke preening its feathers. When she looks around the camp and takes in the small farm patch, the roasting deer, the drying fish, the kids learning to stitch their clothes, she feels a sense of pride well up in her chest. These hundred were sentenced to death and they have risen far above it.

"A working farm and a pet? Getting a little cozy, Clarke?"

Raven stands off a few feet, Octavia to her left. Clarke smiles as an answer. It feels forced, they accept it anyway and leave her a serving of that night's meal. She continues to stare silently out into the forest. She hasn't slept in over a day. Her eyes feel heavy. The bird picks at her shirt before flying off back into the darkness. She lays propped up against the edge of the ship, her food untouched.

Yes she thinks. She has gotten a little cozy. She feels at home here. Feet planted on the ground. Green surrounding every inch of her. Very much at home.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER:** yells loudly in the distance

 **NOTE:** ive been looking for work im so sorry for the lack of updates ! i've had this chapter half finished for _months_ and then decided tonight that I was going to rewrite the whole damn 1600 words again.

anyway i found a job again, and a house, so stuff should be more frequent.

nerds.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4 – AND ALL GOES BLACK**

Jasper had woken up. Someone had thrown flares high in the sky. Raven was trying to reach home with a makeshift radio. And Octavia was missing. They'd searched every part of the forest. And Clarke hadn't slept in days. Her head ached. Her body ached more. Dark bags hung under eyes like a storm in the sky. She hasn't bathed in a week. She wants to cry but can't. Everybody is skittish and looking to her and Bellamy for directions. Neither seem able to give them.

Clarke rubs at her eyes with dirty fingers. Flinching when the inevitable dust speck sticks. Her hands thread through her hair, she can feel the oil and grime and for a moment wishes she were still on-board the Ark. Bellamy is looking at her, pleading eyes. He cannot function while his sister is missing. The crowd of gathering _children_ below look to her too.

They'd scoured out as far from the camp as they dared. Turning over every leaf and branch and stone they could see. Calling Octavia's name until throats turned dry. Earlier in the day someone had found a site where they believed a struggled had ensued, footprints lead into the green beyond.

"You've all worked really hard," Clarke spoke, voice coarse, unable to be helped by a clearing of a throat, "Those of you that have had sleep in the past few days, raise your hands".

A small group of equally as tired looking older boys and girls raised their hands. Clarke counted. Ten. Five groups of two. It'd have to do. Idly her hand fiddles with the trinket around her neck. She doesn't realize she's stayed silent a few moments longer than intended because when she comes back to it, Bellamy is barking orders though his voice doesn't hold as much power as usual.

The hunting party will work towards the found site and split up from there in twos. Clarke struggles to her feet, Finn helps her stand. She shakes his hands off and heads off down the hill towards the makeshift gate with the party.

When they reach the site again, marked by a bright yellow shirt tied to a tree, people start to pair off before venturing off into the forest in different directions. A few moments pass before it's just her and Bellamy left standing there. Clarke unwillingly looks to the sky, the bird glides overhead.

Bellamy follows her gaze before nudging her arm, "Come'on Clarke," he says, trudging off in the only direction not taken. She follows him like a dog to master, barely able to think for herself.

They walk in silence for a long while. The sun is bearing down directly onto them. Clarke thinks her neck is burning up. Bellamy is the one to break the silence, "That thing's followed us all day," he indicates to the dark shape perched high on a branch, twisting its head this way and that.

"Mmm" Clarke grunts, scratching at her sunburn, "S'fine, he's mine"

Bellamy wants to ask more but the distant sound of a horn has the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end. The fog. Whatever tiredness was overcoming them was instantly gone as they ran for cover. Clarke is the one that trips over the body. The colour drains from her face as she sees the crumpled and bloody form of John Mbege. His throat had been slit.

Fear washes over Clarke as she scrambles away, back to her feet. Bellamy grasps at her arm and is tugging her away. But when she turns, it is not him there running with her. It is a girl dressed in stunning white. Not a single speck of dirt taints the dress. The horn, much closer now, sounds again. The girl fades before Clarke can decipher her face.

Bellamy is pulling her into a cave; Finn, Jasper, and a girl by the name of Monroe are huddled in there already. "They're fucking hunting us!" Monroe exclaims, "Roundin' us up like animals! John's dead, he's fucking dead they slit his throat and dropped him from the trees".

Jasper looks white as a sheet, Clarke thinks he probably shouldn't be wandering around still but couldn't argue.

"They got Roma and Diggs too," the boy says, his eyes wild and panicked, "He was," he gestures at his chest, "Impaled, on a trap, she ran. She's dead. I hope"

Clarke thinks all this is crazy. Clarke thinks she's probably crazy too. She's seeing things. Her head has a low thrum of pain resounding it. She needs to lay down. Her body and fear are screaming no. The girl, the girl! Her head screams at her. She digs her hands into her hair. She thinks she hears someone say her name but the pounding of blood in her ears is too loud and in the next moment, all she sees is black.

* * *

She's standing in front of a throne. Or what she thinks is a throne. It's made of wood and steel and iron. Branches bent in such a way that the backrest looks almost like wings. The building it is in is empty. A thick liquid-like darkness drapes around the room except for where she stands.

When she blinks, and it is an awfully slow blink; almost like she cannot open her eyes again after a long nights sleep. The throne is no longer there. Instead she is staring at herself. Only it is not her, is it? Blonde hair tied back from her face, dark paint smeared on her features. She has a small scar on her top lip.

The clone is not looking at Clarke though, it is looking through her, like she is not even there; and when she turns around to see what it is looking at, she sees the back of another girl. Dark armour and a long flowing cape.

She blinks. Again it is slow.

When she is able to open her eyes again she is staring into a child's face, big green eyes and dark hair. The child is blinking up at her. Her little hands are clenched around a small stuffed creature. A voice, muffled through the liquidy shadows, travels around her. The little girl is still staring.

Clarke blinks again.

They are in a dark dense forest. She doesn't know why she thinks _they_. Because she is alone. The darkness is closer now, threatening to reach out and touch her. When she turns to look into the trees she meets the same green eyes. The face of their owner is hidden.

Clarke blinks again.

* * *

She is back in the cave. Bellamy is hanging over her, his eyes wild and darting, sweat beading down his forehead.

"Clarke?" she thinks he is saying, she feels cold, her body is drenched. The horn sounds very far off in the distance.

"Clarke are you okay?" Jasper speaks, he too looks like he's seen a ghost.

Her head is pounding, it doesn't hurt like it did before. She struggles to sit up, Finn's arm is tight around her shoulder.

"You screamed and then," Jasper is speaking again, gesturing to the ground, "Blacked out. You were mumbling".

She doesn't remember screaming. Or blacking out. But she remembers what she saw. The throne. The child. The eyes in the darkness. Octavia. The horn. Where was the fog?

"There's no fog," Bellamy says, seeming to catch onto her sudden look of panic, "The horn scattered the Grounders though, we heard them running."

"Octavia?" she croaks out.

More than one of them shakes their head. They had been too busy dealing with her. From beyond the caves entrance she can see the tinted hues of the distant sky. Night is closing in on them. They need to get back to camp.

Both Finn and Jasper help her stand, Finn half carrying her back out through the cave and down the hill. They walk slowly, every pair of eyes scanning their surrounds for Grounder movement.

A crunch of sticks and leaves, a rustle of leaves, Bellamy points his gun. Octavia is suddenly in front of them. She looks stunned to see them all standing there. Bellamy has her wrapped in his arms quicker than the rest can even process what is happening.

Except Octavia is only looking at Clarke. And then up at the trees. Clarke notices the bird is perched on a branch from the direction she had come from. Nobody else seems to notice the exchange. They are hurryingly dragging themselves back towards camp. Finn sticks to Clarke's side, annoyingly.

She needs to talk to Octavia. Alone. The bird hops between the branches well above them. A silent guardian.

Their arrival back to camp is met with a loud round of cheers. Clarke hangs back by the gate, gesturing for Finn to head in. He does so eventually, reluctantly; Raven is staring at them. Clarke wishes she could tell her nothing is happening between them.

Her hand finds the carved necklace as she sits down by the entrance. The bird is on a branch at what would be eye height if she was standing. It twists its head left and right, up and down, before fluffing out and making a guttural noise at her. Indignant, demanding thanks for leading their friend back to them.

Clarke reaches into her backpack, throwing it a piece of jerky. It squawks again. Happier this time. Neck feathers puff up as it settles down onto its branch for the night.

She closes her eyes after a moment, her body finally succumbing to well-earned sleep.

The chant of distant night bugs greet her what feels like moments later. The camp fire is crackling bright and warm near the ship. A sound has stirred her. Groggily she notices nobody is around. The camp is asleep. A single guard patrols far up the hill near the drop-ship.

The chatter of the bird clips her attention towards the gate. Her tired eyes strain to see into the darkness – the torches hung high on the wall provide barely enough light. But she can see them. Vague shadows in a sea of black.

In the dark, beyond where the firelight reaches, an army of figures speckle the treeline. Shadows merging with shadows. She feels tense. A heavy stone swallows in her throat. The bird flies from the branch into the darkness.

She thinks this might be a hallucination, a dream, a nightmare. She pinches herself. It hurts. The trinkets feel heavy on her neck. A dull pain grows in her head.

The shadows seem to part for a moment. Someone walks forward. Only barely visible in the light from the torches. Dark boots drag up to dark armour and darker hair. Clarke feels her breath catch in her throat. Her head feels heavy and her body light. A sweat breaks out on her neck. She knows what is to come.

Green eyes meet blue.

And all goes black.


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER:** no

 **NOTE:** this went from "im going to follow the canon storyline!" to "no but consider this loopy droopy world travelling fiction"

so now we've ended up here.

can you guess what's happening?

also i know i keep promising actual Lexa but for real this time, she's in the next chapter. it's half written.

 _also two in like 2 days, what a fucking record._

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5 – A PINKY PROMISE**

A hand touches hers. Warm and heavy and actually kind of sweaty and disgusting. She's in a local park. She is seven years old. She is not good with people. Her teachers call her a delayed child. So her parents bring her here every weekend to try to make friends.

When she finally looks into the eyes of the young boy in front of her, and green reflect off blue, she can't help but crack a shy little smile. She is too young to fully grasp the lifetimes before her, but she does dream of them. So she finds comfort in the green eyes in this world too.

He invites her to come play. Tugging at her hand with his grubby little fingers stained with dirt. He is maybe a year older than her. They are running back to the play equipment. Her head is quick to remind her she is afraid of other people.

She digs her heels into the soft bark chips below. Eyes wide and sweat building instantly on her forehead. Green eyes look back at her.

"Don't be scared come'on! I'll protect you," a half toothless grin follows the statement. Freckles dot the tanned skin.

A familiar warmth settles in Clarke's chest.

She falls in love with green at seven.

* * *

"Clarke, Clarke wake up," a hand is rough, shaking her shoulder, she groans in protest, "Get up, did you sleep out here all night?"

Sunlight pours down from the canopy above. She starts awake. Frantically searching beyond the gate. Nothing. Not even a scrap indicating that what she saw last night was real. The bird is still perched in the tree, its head tucked under its wing. Dozing but not asleep.

Clarke looks back to her awakener, Bellamy is there, brow scrunched slightly.

"What time is it?" Clarke asks.

"'Round eight I'd say. Are you okay? You seem a little out of it."

"Tired, just tired"

A group of older kids are approaching them. Armed with spears. Really poorly made spears. Clarke cannot help the eye-roll. They miss it. Bellamy does not and his little chuckle makes her smile too.

"We need winter supplies," Bellamy explains as the group walks past, chatting amongst themselves, "Food, water, blankets if they can find another bunker like before," Bellamy is handing her a backpack too.

Her body does not feel refreshed enough for another outing. The bags under her eyes have lessened but they are still there. She takes the pack. It feels heavier than it should. It is empty.

Her eyes drag back to the forest; the scavenging group trample the area in which the shadows stood last night. Whatever she's waiting for doesn't happen.

"There's a building nearby the cave we huddled in yesterday. Octavia said that's where she was hiding. That's our job," Bellamy indicts between them as they walk; when did they start walking? Clarke thinks she's losing the plot.

He hands her a few nuts as they walk, she pockets them. She's not hungry.

The walk is long and hot and by the time they reach the cave Clarke is again exhausted. A large lake opens out below them. They take a hiding spot in the rocks of the cliff. There doesn't seem to be any Grounders today at least. They stay still for a long while just listening. The sounds of the forest blanket everything. A gentle breeze cools their skin.

"You shot Jaha, didn't you?" Clarke asks him in the stillness.

He doesn't seem surprised at the question. And he doesn't hesitate an answer, "Yes".

"To get on the ship, for your sister?"

"Yes," he answers again.

Clarke hums, in the distance she can see little wood birds darting in and out of trees catching minute bugs in the sky.

"You know once Raven makes contact with them, with that radio-computer thing she's building, that they'll come down, right?"

He takes a deep breath, she can see the worry pale his face, "Yes."

She nudges him, "Don't worry I'm sure Octavia will protect you".

Eyes narrow before he chuckles out a laugh. Shoving her. She thinks it's nice to see him smile. She hasn't seen it since they landed.

"Let's split up" he says a moment later, "The doors got to be around her somewhere, stay in yelling distance."

She nods, they split ways after a last long look at each other. She heads further up the hill, spear acting as a walking aide in the loose undergrowth. He walks down, swinging from low hanging branches.

Neither of them see the shadow that lurks just out of sight.

They make animal-like noises to each other as they make their journey around the lake. Trying to one up each other with stranger and stranger sounds.

Clarke is the one that finds the entrance, shaded amongst vines and tree trunks. She yells his name. He is there moments later. Panting and half sopping wet. She doesn't mention the obvious fall into the lake.

He smacks her on the back in joy at having found it, helping her remove the vines and branches out of the way. There is no evidence that Octavia had stayed here. Clarke doesn't mention this to Bellamy though as he struggles with the door.

It opens with a groan. The first thing they notice is the smell. Stale and musty. The second thing Clarke notices is the spider that comes skittering over her feet. She yells. Not screams. But there is definitely a panicked raised voice. Bellamy yells too. Frantically trying to squish it with his boot.

The silence that falls over them after the creature is well and truly dead is deafening. They are both staring at each other, wide eyed. They are talking without actually talking. Silently communicating to one another that whatever just happened was never to be spoken of again. A small nod from them both solidify the deal.

They descend into darkness.

They trip over several decomposing corpses, half eaten by time. And one completely picked clean skeleton, fully eaten by what they assume was the decomposing corpses. It makes them gag.

Most of the bunker is flooded ankle high with slimy water. Leaked in through the cracks of the cement over the decades. They do however, after wading through a particularly wet area, find a supply cache. Boxes filled with blankets and sleeping bags. Another filled with orange glow sticks. They crack a few to light up the rooms.

It would take a large group of them to get in here and get the items out again. There's no food, or medical supplies; but the blankets and lights and whatever else is laying around cannot be ignored.

Bellamy is the one to find the barrels all neatly lined up, tucked away in a corner. Popping the lid on one causes him to wretch. Foul smelling oil wafts into his face. Clarke yells a sarcastic "Hah!" from down a nearby hallway.

She finds what she assumes was a dorm for the bodies found at the entrance. There are moulded, half eaten away pictures hanging on the walls. Pictures of families and lovers. It is bittersweet she thinks. Her fingers trace over the faces of a particularly happy family.

Engrossed, she doesn't see the shadow move silently past the entranceway.

"Clarke!"

She turns at Bellamy's voice. Glancing back at the picture once more before making back off down the hall.

He is holding up slimy guns. The disgusting barrels are all tipped over. Their muck mixing with the ankle deep water below. She doesn't particularly want to touch them. But she cannot help the grin that appears on her face.

They spend the next several hours cleaning and checking all the weapons. Taking stock of ammunition. Bellamy sets up a target range down the longest hall he can find. When he tries to teach Clarke to shoot, she is one step ahead of him. The targets fall with accuracy he's not even sure he can muster.

He doesn't question it. And neither does Clarke. They both find solace in not questioning each other.

"I'm going to go fetch help," Bellamy says sometime later, after they've expended enough bullets practicing – trying to outshoot each other, "To remove as many supplies as we can, you'll be okay on your own?"

Clarke nods, waving the gun in the air slightly as if it to beg him not to be stupid. She is armed – the Grounders are not.

He touches her arm and nods, taking his own gun with him as he makes his way back out of the bunker. She listens to his heavy footsteps until they can no longer be heard. She is alone.

Her eyes close with an involuntary sigh. She listens to all the sounds around her. Small animals scatter throughout the facility. Water falls from the ceiling in rhythmic drips. There is a vague crackling sound from the lamps. She takes a few blankets and a lamp, heading back towards the dormitory. Bellamy will be several hours at most. And she needs the sleep.

The makeshift bed on the dusty old mattress does its job and within moments Clarke's eyes have fallen closed. She misses the sounds of the footsteps approaching.

* * *

She is woken sometime later by a weight settling against her. When she opens her eyes she is not in the room. The sun is bearing down on her. A girl straddles her torso.

In the sunlight she can see the dark paint marking the girl's face, patched over by drying blood. A split lip leaks red. Angry dark bruises swell cheeks. Tears are welling in green eyes. There is a language being spoken that Clarke cannot understand.

Clarke knows she wants to help. To reach and touch and soothe. But instead the feeling is washed away by intense and overwhelming rage. _Kill kill kill_. She tries to move. To grab. To hurt.

Her arms are tied down. She snarls like a cornered animal.

"I'm sorry Clarke" the girl over her says, the first words she has spoken that Clarke can understand.

And in the next moment, strong, calloused hands are wrapped around her throat. Crushing. She cannot breathe. She continues to snarl and struggle. Face turning red. A part of her is yelling in thanks.

She is dead a moment later.

* * *

Clarke is standing in the supply cache, gun by her side. Eyes unfocused down the hallway. Subconsciously she checks for fingers at her throat. She shudders when she finds none. How long had she been standing here?

The lamps are running low on power. The orange glow sticks are muted and dull. Bellamy and a small crew are descending the stairs on the far side of the room. She finally breathes. It is ragged and shaky and she feels the familiar cold sweat build up on her neck.

She leans against a nearby crate and tries to focus on where she is. Who she is. She is confused and more than a little scared.

Clarke helps the group relocate the items back to camp. She cannot focus. The walk back is long and her shoulders hurt. She keeps thinking she can feel hands against her throat.

A storm gathers overhead. The bird ducking low at the first sound of thunder. When they arrive back at camp, the sopping wet creature takes shelter in Clarke's makeshift tent. Preening its feathers and biting at Clarke's fingers.

She can hear the one hundred chattering by the ship, filling their canteens with the running water. She takes hold of the trinkets around her neck. And for the first time she allows herself to cry.

* * *

"What happens if you forget me?" a pair of green eyes asks, they are hidden in the plastic red tunnel that joins the two sides of the playground together.

"I'll never forget you!" nine even year old Clarke exclaims. Extremely indignant over even mentioning of the fact, "I'm only moving like twelve streets away."

"Yea, but _what if_?" the boy asks again, eyes threatening to spill tears.

Clarke holds her pinky finger out for him. He loops his own with it.

"I pinky promise never to forget you in all my lives" she says, crossing her heart with her free hand.

He smiles. The sanctity of the pinky promise too much to ignore.

A part of Clarke feels heavy and angry.

She has no way of knowing her promise is a lie.


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER:** is this truly needed will i get sued if i do not add this?

 **NOTE:** this had more effort poured into it than any essay ive ever written of the same length.

ive got my priorities straight.

i kept my promise this time ayee lmao (whispers love me)

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6 – UNIFICATION**

It's a week before Clarke can get her bearings again. She spends a week aimlessly wandering around camp. Exhausted, dark bags form beneath her eyes. She keeps having vivid, repetitive dreams of horrors in the forest. She does not see the girl's face again, though it is ingrained just as well.

On the seventh night of deprived sleep she finds a gentle calm wash over her. The horrors are gone in an instant. Instead she is swimming in a sea of green. She feels safe. Content. She wakes feeling more refreshed then she has in years.

She can hear quiet arguing outside. It is still early morning; the sun barely licking the tops of the mountains. Her limbs groan in protest as she moves her way outside to listen.

Raven leans over a hunched Octavia, one hand pointing wildly to the forest edge, the other hand wrapped around Octavia's wrist. Clarke rubs at her eyes with dirty fingers as she strains to hear.

"When Bellamy finds out-"

"Raven, they're our best hope for surviving the cold"

"You sneaking off in the morning is _not_ our best hope"

Clarke looks to the nearby treetops for the bird. He is watching the commotion with rapt interest. Head turning this way and that. She wishes she were in the trees with him.

"Then what, we starve? These people know these lands, Raven, they can help us"

Clarke listens in again just in time to hear Raven let out a frustrated groan, kicking a trees bark clean off. She knows what they're talking about. The bird, its owner, Grounders.

She knows Octavia is talking with them. At the very least being supplied by them – she'd returned with the carcass of a mountain lion the previous day. Clarke knows she can't hunt.

Tired legs protest strongly as she struggles down the hill until she is in sight. Octavia stops midsentence, nodding at Clarke. Raven holds a hand up in greeting. Clarke knows she's about to be asked for backup, to tell Octavia to stop venturing out. She gets in first.

"Your Grounder friend, can they set up a meeting, with their leader?" Clarke asks, voice raspy and full of sleep. Raven shoots her a sharp glare.

"Yes," Octavia speaks not a second later, "He can do that"

"They've attacked us before-" Raven starts before being interrupted.

"Not them, they call them the Reapers. His English isn't good. But Clarke, they can help us" Octavia looks at her with begging eyes. Clarke's head ache's for a brief moment before she nods.

"Go then" she says, a dirty hand coming up to rub at her temple, "Have a response sent back by the bird," she turns, addressing Raven who looks in between being upset and annoyed, "She's right, we need help"

Raven, free hand still looped around Octavia's wrist, finally relents. A silent _be safe_ is exchanged in glances only. Octavia is gone a moment later, blending in with the morning shadows cast down by the trees. The bird swoops low to follow.

"You have no idea if they'll even agree to a meeting" Raven says, eyes still straining to try to see Octavia, "Or if they'll hold up their end of the deal, your mother risked everything to get me down here, to make sure you were all safe, and you might be throwing it all away"

Her mother. Clarke hadn't even thought of her. The radio was still non-functional. Mostly. They'd sent back a small signal and received one in return. But she hadn't heard the woman speak. She's not even sure if she wanted to – not after learning she was behind what happened to her father.

"Do you remember seeing winter from up there?" Clarke asks, finding a seat on a nearby boulder, "When snow would just eat all this green? How are we meant to survive through that? We're sharing blankets as it is"

Raven doesn't have an answer for it. Or the hundred other questions Clarke could just as easily ask. Food? They're taught animals disappear during the cold. And water? It freezes over. Warmth. Shelter. Storms. Did these _Reapers_ stop in the cold? What then?

A silence falls between them. Birds and bugs are waking up. Filling the gap with their noise. Raven's hands are wringing together. Clarke knows what the next question is going to be. It's the same question she's heard passed around camp.

"What about the mountain base?"

"We have no idea if it's still functional – if it's safe. You saw the bunker, Raven. They _ate_ each other. How do we know those same kind of people haven't taken refuge there as well?"

It's a good enough answer. She accepts it. Better safe with the enemy you know than the one you don't. And they know the Grounders.

Clarke doesn't speak the real reason though. Her dreams have shown her the mountain and the base that spirals beneath it. Faceless men and women – evil. Dressed all in whites and greys. Feeding and killing and gasping for breath as skin turns in from out. She doesn't know how much of it holds truth. But she's not willing to risk a hundred lives on the unknown.

The rest of the camp wakes an hour later. The sun well and truly pouring through the treetops now. Raven and Clarke lie when Bellamy ask the whereabouts of his sister. She's gone on patrol they say. Early morning hunting with two others. He doesn't bother to mentally count their numbers to discern the truth. He believes Clarke and she's thankful for it.

She herself – no longer exhausted and zombie-like sets out into the forest after breakfast is accounted for; sketchbook tucked under her arm and pencils and brushes hastily shoved in her bag. She'd thought about doing this since they arrived. A bible of edible plants and fruit.

Too many of them in these past weeks had eaten something toxic. They needed a visual guide. And she by far was their best artist. And well and truly not stupid enough to test the plants by actually eating them; as Murphy had done with the assorted nuts. He'd been catatonic for hours – eyes glazed over staring into the sky.

She had a natural intuition. At least that's what the camp called it. She knew what to eat and what not to eat and how much of something was good before it was suddenly no longer good. She knew how to fish and hunt small creatures – nectar bearing bugs mostly.

She was just _good_. Good at surviving down here. Everyone played it up to her being a rich daughter. She wasn't sure how to play it up. It worked though. And that's all that matters.

Clarke walked to the river, the same one they had encountered the monster in, and sat down by the bank. It was not as strong or deep now, as it had been weeks ago. The water was calm and almost crystal clear. She could see the silver flicker of fish beneath the surface some way out.

A part of her told her she had caught those fish before. Speared through their wiggling forms with trained eyes and a barbed end. That sometime, long ago, she had felt someone stand behind her and guide her to do these things. Gentle touches and soft voices.

She blinks.

She is not sitting by the river. At least, not as close as she was before. She's instead perched on the roots of a tree, a small fungi laid on the page before her. Several sketches accompanied it. Notes jotted down the page. Arrows and splashes of colour. She pinched herself.

Pain. Real. This was real. Was before real? Yes. She slowed her breathing. Feeling her chest rise and fall with the wind around her. Calm.

She placed the mushroom back in the pile she had plucked it from. Poisonous. Deadly. Would kill the eater in a matter of minutes. You would feel okay before you died. She wrote it all. A skull on the top of the page for easy detection.

Slow breathing. Chest rising and falling. A twig broke in the distance and a gust of wind. Calm.

The bird landed in front of her. Neck feathers ruffled from flight. It looked clumsy, uncoordinated. A piece of parchment laid curled in its talon.

Clarke smiled. All panic was gone. She took the piece of paper from it as it nibbled away at her fingers painlessly. Unfurling it she found the text to be scrawled, like a child's, a comically giant _–Octavia_ tagged at the end of it.

" _Sunset. Southern river bridge. Alone"_

A hunting party had found the bridge earlier that week. Several hours walk from where Clarke was currently sat. They had needed a way across and found it instead of using the vines. Old wooden and metal and creaky pylons.

She thought about going back to camp; of bringing Bellamy. They were leaders together, weren't they?

 _Alone_ the message read.

It should have been ominous. A warning. Bring backup and hidden soldiers. But all Clarke felt was calm. Unnatural, unwavering calm. She knew she would be safe. Octavia would be there. A mediator.

Clarke's head felt light with pleasure as she stood up. Legs and arms stretching.

Something tugs in her chest as she takes a step downstream.

 _Finally_ it cries.

She blinks.

* * *

She is seventeen and about to have her first kiss.

They are locked in a closet at another girl's birthday party.

They can only faintly hear the jeers from outside.

Seven minutes in heaven. Not even two had elapsed.

In the dark she can just barely see the green eyes of the girl in front of her. She has dyed blue, messy hair in this world. Punk would be an apt word. Clarke is a nerd. Short and shy and so in love.

On the third minute green eyes push forward and suddenly there are hands tangled in Clarke's hair and they are kissing. Shyness forgotten. Moving with each other. The sounds from outside all but disappear. All Clarke can see, hear, feel, taste; is the green eyes and all that they encompass.

When they part on the sixth minute, barely forty seconds to go. Clarke can see fluttering eyelids and a recognition – they've done this before.

A lopsided smile.

They find each other early in this world.

* * *

She is standing on her camps side of the bridge. Rather, crouching behind a tree stump on her side of the bridge. She's pretty sure she's being watched but this seems like the smart thing to be doing, so she's doing it.

The sun is halfway touching the tips of the western mountains. She thinks she's only got a little longer to wait. A shiver runs through her body for the fifteenth time that minute. She's cold and wants to turn back to camp.

Octavia appears on the bridge first. A man is beside her a moment later. Dark skin and dark paint smearing his features. He looks imposing. But his eyes aren't on the other end of the bridge. They're on Octavia. Who looks like she doesn't even notice how much attention is being paid to her – too busy standing on tiptoes peering for Clarke.

Clarke clambers from her hiding spot, she's covered in twigs and leaves and moss, and she's pretty sure a bug has crawled its way down into her shoe; but she doesn't want to seem weak, so her walk to the start of the bridge is complete with her head held high.

He, the man, is talking in a language she doesn't understand. The same from her dreams. Octavia is listening with a strained ear. Eyes darting between Clarke and the man beside her. The talk is slow, for Octavia's sake.

"They want to know if you're armed" she eventually speaks, "Or if you bought…friends"

Clarke shakes her head. For good measure she puts her bag on the ground. The sketchpad beside it. She raises her hands as a show of peace. The dark man looks over her and nods, signalling back the way they came, before allowing Octavia to approach.

They regard each other for a moment before Clarke smiles, a silent thank you.

Across the bridge she can hear the sound of thunder. Or what sounds like thunder. Loud and heavy. Creatures appear from the trees. Two are large, black; riders on them swathed in dark clothes and masks. The middle one is a chocolate brown, a white strip smudged down its head.

Clarke would be afraid except she's never seen these before, only heard of them. And she's interested. Captivated.

"Oh my god, they're horses," she can't contain her excitement, it falls however, as quick as she spots the rider on the brown steed.

Fair hair and high cheek bones. Dark ashen makeup painted around their eyes. Their armour is more intricate than her companions but not overly done; and the bird sits regally atop her shoulder, its beady eyes boring holes into Clarke.

Clarke furrows her eyebrow. It feels off. Wrong. The dark man is approaching them too. Octavia is looking at Clarke.

"What's wrong?" she speaks, glancing between Clarke and the rider. Her eyes fall on the man as he protectively places a hand on her back.

"Go. Alone. We stay," he says, indicating between himself and Octavia.

No. No no. Red is flashing in her. This is wrong. This is not what she came looking for – who she came looking for.

Clarke turns to the man, "Where is your leader? I requested to meet with your leader".

He looks taken aback. His eyes dart to Octavia and then back towards the riders. A hand signal by his side has the main rider squint her eyes. She is staring directly at Clarke. She says something back into the forest.

"Lincoln," Octavia speaks, "Lincoln what's going on? This is your…Heda isn't it?"

He pauses. His grasp on their language isn't perfect; but he understands enough in this moment to convey his feelings.

"No," he replies a moment later.

Clarke feels outraged. Betrayed. A part of her is boiling. Angry. She lets it show, but her voice remains calm.

"I meet with your leader or nothing at all."

Arms crossed she waits. And waits and waits. The night is truly settling in now. Octavia speaking in low tones to her friend – Lincoln. The last sliver of sunlight however signals another rider.

This horse is silver and lightly armoured. It is bigger than its companions and when it stops it rears up a little. A show of power. Clarke remains unafraid. Lincoln bows his head. Octavia does too out of respect, or fear, Clarke isn't sure.

The rider that dismounts is clad in leathers and metal. Crisscrossing strips and a long flowing cloak. Red and silver and black. A shoulder piece engraved with runes sits heavy on her side. The bird flies to her empty shoulder. Bone-engraved gauntlets reach up to stroke its head. Clarke cannot see their face through the skull-like mask.

Her anger dissipates with a visible snap. She walks forward. Ignoring Octavia's sudden frantic whispers. She keeps her shoulders straight, her head high.

"Clarke of the Sky People?" the voice says beyond the mask, muffled and hidden, but strong and demanding.

Clarke nods.

"You knew Anya was not our leader, how?"

Clarke realizes she doesn't know the answer to that. She just did. It felt off. She shrugs in reply.

"Why do you seek us?"

"We need help. Our people are stuck in the sky. We have no idea when they are or if they will make it down. We need food. Supplies. Shelter."

"There are more of you?"

"A thousand at least"

"And why should we offer _you_ help. You sky people that burned a village down with your little missiles, why do you deserve aid?"

Clarke furrows her brow. Missiles? They had no weapons. Except…Flares. The flares someone had sent up. She blanches. What goes up must come down. She feels sick.

"They were not missiles. They were signals. Signs that we were alive down here for our people up there. We had no way of knowing that-"

"Nevertheless, your stunt killed our people. My people. This is considered an act of war on your part, sky commander"

Clarke narrows her eyes at the form in front of her. The mask hides all emotion. All signal that this is even a real person. The voice cold and dark and heartless. She can see they are about to speak again. She interrupts.

"Blood lost does not need more blood spilled. My people are _prisoners_. Cast out from our home in the sky because we were _worthless_. More than worthless. We were _nothing_. They treated us like mice to a poisoned cube of cheese. Disposable. If we died down here it wouldn't matter. We need your help. Your peoples _help_. We can help rebuild the village. Treat your wounded. We have knowledge and wealth and weapons that you and your people do not."

The armour clad commander pauses. If Clarke didn't know better she would say she was being looked at with admiration. They turn around to face the blonde on the horse. Silent communication between the two. The blonde nods. Clarke is faced with the skull again.

Bone-gloves reach up to unclasp the hood from mask, dark hair falls out around their face and in a moment, even in the dark, Clarke is face to face with green eyes, marked by wicked dark makeup, streaked down cheeks. They – she – looks regal, imposing, deadly.

"You have a deal, Clarke of the Sky People."

A hand is offered to Clarke. It takes her a moment to realize she should take it in her own. She does not lose eye contact with green. When their hands meet she feels a tangible ripple through the sky around them. Green eyes do not react more than pupils contracting and dilating.

"I am Lexa, Commander of the Twelve Clans, and Leader of the Woods Clan; welcome to Earth"

She blinks.


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER:** im going to get sued

 **NOTES:** i see the reviews i read what u say

i love u too

thanks for reading

these chapters are getting longer

* * *

 **CHAPTER 7 – RIGHT**

Clarke wanted their alliance to be slow, steady; introduced at a glacial pace to the others at camp. She wanted time to talk to Bellamy, to relax his fears and doubts; and they could both talk to the near hundred others that were relying on them. Convince them that this was needed – warranted.

Lexa wanted their alliance to begin immediately. Right now. At this very second. She had troops in the forest across the bridge. They would escort Clarke back. Protect the camp until morning when they would all graciously move to the ruined village to begin repairs.

It took several hours of debating on Clarke's side of the bridge; a fire had been set up by an unseen Grounder, to get them to where they are now.

"Five guards," Lexa argues, her back straight as a board, eyes defiant. Clarke knew she was not used to being told _no_. Especially not by a girl who magically appeared from the sky.

"Two, and Lincoln counts as the second," Clarke said, far less ridged. Her pose was relaxed. She felt calm. The Commander's presence wrapped around her like a blanket to a child.

Green eyes pierced the darkness, the light of the fire made them look more tranquil than they were. It took long moments of silence before she finally acquiesced. A hardening jaw being all that told Clarke she had won the argument – if you can even call it that. Haggle-ment more like.

"Fine, however I choose the soldier. And when you send word back you are ready I choose the size of the escort force"

Clarke nodded. Holding her hand out. Green eyes flicked to it before flicking back up. Ignoring the gesture. Clarke realized the handshake earlier was out of place and it didn't happen as often as it did in her society.

Lexa signalled over her shoulder. From the darkness, though Clarke assumes they had been there this entire time, (and god who knows how many more there were standing in the shadows), emerged a large burly man, wide shoulders and arms but a pudgy gut. The bird perched on his shoulder, nestled in a ball of fluff and feathers. Clarke has seen him before. It takes her a moment.

"The man from the bunker" she speaks, Lexa nods.

Seeing him close now, Clarke can't seem to fathom why she had been scared to begin with. He looked friendly enough. Fatherly even. He flashes a large smile when Lexa finally stops staring at him. Clarke sees it, Anya sees it too, one smiles back the other doesn't.

"This is Ayvan, his English is…less than good. In case you were worried about spies. His bird, you are familiar with him already, is called Gul. If you require our assistance, write a letter. Ayvan knows what to do."

Lexa is standing and Clarke rises with her. She notices the hand resting on the sword at her side. It is defensive. Lexa is afraid. Clarke is unarmed. She wishes she knew what caused the fear.

They spend several long seconds staring at each other before Lexa nods, pivoting on one foot and speaking to Ayvan in her language. He is nodding. Clarke can feel the blanket of comfort slowing being pulled from her shoulders. Anya has disappeared back into the shadows and returns with the horses; handing the reigns off to Lexa.

"One week, Clarke," Lexa says as she effortlessly glides onto the back of her mount, her posture visibly relaxes once she is several feet away; Clarke feels hurt at this, " _Go klir_ " she says before grabbing at the reins and forcing her horse away from the group. Anya follows. The sound of breaking leaves signals the departure of hidden countless others.

Clarke watches until they are completely consumed by darkness. The blanket is gone and she feels the cold settle in – even when the fire is roaring beside her still. Octavia is beside her in a moment, "Come'on, we need to go, Bellamy's probably ready to tear his hair out."

The journey back is slow, Lincoln is the one that guides them; used to navigating in the dark. Octavia stays beside him, he teaches her in quiet whispers what to look for, and she eats the information up like it's the most important thing in the world.

Clarke hangs back, Ayvan several steps behind her. The night chill, different than the cold she had felt at the lack of the Commander, bites at her skin angrily. She shivers, arms coming up to rub at poorly clothed arms. She hears rustling and then a heavy weight settling across her shoulders. Warmth. Ayvan retreats back several steps again.

The blanket, or cape, whatever it was, completely encompasses Clarke's small form compared to him. It is heavy and warm and smells of oaks and pines. She's silently thankful for it. Sending a smile back to him, she's not sure if he can see it in the dark, but the gesture remains.

She buries her face into the fur, nose just barely peeking out for air. The bottom of it drags at her feet and she must bundle it up in her arms a little to stop it from collecting dirt. Octavia joins her under the blanket sometime later – they talk quietly together. Clarke teasers her for having a Grounder boyfriend, she can practically feel the blush roll off Octavia's face. It is friendly banter though.

The rest of the journey back is in relative comfort. When they reach the border, there are weapons being aimed. Orders being yelled. Clarke is forced out of the warmth of the furs. Bellamy is the first to approach from the gate, eyes locked on the two men behind them. He is judgemental, worried, distrusting.

"Bellamy," Clarke starts, he finally looks at them, the panic in his eyes subside when he sees they are alright, frustration settling in a moment after, "Bellamy they are okay, we have a lot to talk about. Get them to stand down and gather whoever you think's important enough to know."

It takes several minutes of yelling and poor coordination to actually get the Hundred, the Sky People, to actually put down their weapons. The younger ones scatter under tents and blankets as the foreign Grounders walk in beside their Leaders. A small council has assembled at the dropship's entrance.

Clarke looks over the faces appraisingly. Raven, Jasper, Monty, Harper, Finn, and Murphy. They all head inside. Grounders included. The remaining Hundred are left standing outside confused and vaguely afraid. Whispers begin to spread.

The counsel lasts well past midnight. They are all tired. There were concerns raised in every direction. Bellamy chided her for not bringing him along. Raven still looked pissed at Octavia; who in turn looked pissed at Bellamy for an undeserved lecture earlier. It took broken English and rough translations to get across what the flares had done to the village across the valley.

Finally though, Bellamy and the others relents. He can't deny they need the help. And Clarke had handled the negotiations perfectly, if Octavia was anything to be believed. He is still wary though of the two men and demands they camp outside. Lincoln translates for Ayvan, he shakes his head and points to Clarke.

" _Ai ste kom skai heda_ " he speaks, voice deep and warm. Clarke likes him.

Bellamy looks to Octavia who looks to Lincoln who rephrases, "He must stay, with Clarke"

"No, no, either he stays outside or he goes all together"

Again more translation. The man's brow furrows. He looks to Bellamy, stern and unwavering and Clarke can see Bellamy shrink back a little.

" _Nou gon we, ste kom skai heda, teik in o gonplei_ "

Lincoln can only half translate, "He fights to stay"

Bellamy is about to argue again before Clarke touches him on the arm. She shakes her head. The furs are still piled around her shoulders. She trusts the man. Bellamy scowls before finally relenting – again. She's proud of him.

"Fine, both of you can camp outside. The kids won't sleep with them indoors."

Clarke smiles. Nodding. The big man takes this as agreement and returns to his placid look.

When the group finally emerges from the ship there are seemingly hundreds of frightened eyes staring up at them. Bellamy says something about having a camp-wide meeting tomorrow. It barely settles the nerves but they let the two men, plus added Clarke and Octavia, who is still angry at Bellamy and clutching to Clarke's arm; pass through the camp undisturbed.

It is short work for Lincoln and Ayvan to set the camp up. They have skins and furs with them, built for making tents. Or rather, Ayvan had skins and furs. He'd been carrying a bag Clarke hadn't seen past his mass. And both of them were good at making a fire.

Octavia huddles under the borrowed furs, sharing a tent with Clarke, who is sitting up talking briefly with Ayvan and Lincoln. It is slow going, translating back and forth. She falls asleep before hearing the rest. Clarke is careful not to wake her when she crawls under the furs herself.

Her arms curl around the form of her friend protectively. She tries to keep her eyes on the two men for a while longer. Ayvan remains watching over them both, unblinking. It would be unnerving except Clarke finds comfort in it.

She is asleep moments later.

* * *

Aside from Clarke and the green eyes that seem to follow her across centuries. And Octavia, who makes enough appearances that Clarke stops being surprised. There are few other familiar faces who travel the cosmos with them.

Clarke often wondered aloud how strange this was. That if these truly were other universes – lined up alongside each other, which she assumed they were, why did whole leagues of her friends and family not travel with her?

Was this their burden? Their curse? Did _they_ create this mess? This back and forth forever until _one_ of them just decided to stop. Clarke wondered if they even could stop.

It's a lot for a ten year old to think about. And for a fifth grade school paper she writes about the infinite possibilities theory; where every choice someone has a chance of making creates another world and so and so forth.

She receives an A and a big gold star.

In eighth grade, she begins to study more deeply this idea that science can explain what is happening to her. She is smart. Overly so, her teachers tell her and her parents. They suggest moving her forward a year. And several months after that, she is ahead a year more.

She does not struggle with the work; she struggles with finding friends however. Kids her own age are hard to make friends with, and kids in her grades age aren't interested in hanging out with a fourteen year old. She goes friendless until she is finished with school. She graduates at fifteen with offers flowing in from every direction.

MIT, Harvard, and Stanford all offer her full-ride scholarships. She is overwhelmed but eventually makes a decision. MIT. Her parents are so proud. She is still friendless.

At sixteen she heads off to college in Massachusetts and her parents pay for a single dorm. Clarke's pretty sure they can't afford it, but they love her and she is an only child and they want her to succeed. She is a small kid in a big place and she is scared.

She meets her RA the evening she moves in. Her tiny sixteen year old heart skips a beat. Green eyes stare at her from the entrance to her room. She is studying chemistry and she is a massive nerd. But she's beautiful and she's a people person and Clarke falls casually in love with a girl five years her senior.

A year before her RA, Madison, is set to graduate, Clarke who is now eighteen forces herself to stop being scared and she asks the girl out. Well, more aptly, she tries to ask her out, fails, gets nervous and retreats back to her dorm.

She's invited to attend Madison's graduation. She's nineteen and still hasn't asked her out. One of her tutors, sick of watching his student skirt around the inevitable, asks Madison for her instead. It's mortifying. But it works.

Clarke's research leads her to a dead end eventually. There are pieces missing. Information, mathematics, and science she can't explain; her own colleagues are left stumped. She's been dating Madison for three years. They love each other but it's stressful with their work.

She wakes one night knowing a piece of the puzzle she's been missing. She ignores Madison's pleas not to leave, to come back to bed. Her driving is erratic. She feels a tug at her chest. Her car flips. She is killed on the fourth roll.

It was the first and last time she got it into her head that the phenomena needed studying.

* * *

When Clarke wakes the trepidation around the camp is palpable. Everyone is standing or sitting and all eyes are focused at their drop ship. Bellamy and Clarke explain, slowly, what occurred the previous night. They stop whenever a kid has a question, answering it to the best of their ability – deferring to the Grounder men when they cannot.

"What about the Ark?" a young girl asks.

Clarke is made to realize the hard truth, "We don't know, we can't get a good line of contact with them, we have no idea what's going on up there."

"What if they come down after us?" another voice calls out.

"We'll find a way to co-exist" Clarke answers again.

The talks go on for hours. They only stop because people are getting hungry. Ayvan hauls in several fresh carcasses. Clarke knows they're likely being watched – he was with them all morning and did not hunt them himself. Everyone else is too hungry to care.

The large man turns out to be a rather good cook. Setting the fire pit up in a way he can safely turn and manage both meat sticks, slicing off chunks for everyone around him. Clarke's pretty sure he must be a father. The younger ones, ever wary, warm to him quick enough.

When everyone is fed, the talks don't continue. The older ones in the camp have convinced the younger ones it's safe. Those older that are still rebellious – that believe they don't need the help, are given the option of staying behind when the time comes. Clarke knows they'll follow.

The rest of the day is spent in peace, or, orderly peace. People are packing up boxes and crates and collecting their belongings together. Dismantling unneeded fences or walls. There is vague excited chatter. Raven is collecting as much technology as she can siphon from the ship – still hell bent on believing this is a pretty horrendous idea.

Clarke walks the boundaries of the camp. Ayvan follows her like a guard dog. Stopping several yards away whenever she does. They are mostly silent.

"Can you teach me your language?" she asks, knowing he won't understand.

A raised eyebrow is given in return. She points at her mouth, makes a questioning mention and then points at a tree.

" _Tri_ " he says, understanding, clipped and to the point, similar to English but not quite. And heavily accented.

Clarke bombards him with questions after that. Pointing and questioning and repeating after him. He looks amused. She's a natural learner and craves this kind of interaction.

"Love" she asks eventually, curious.

He is confused. She has nothing to point to. Her chest does not garner an answer. Eventually they spot Octavia and Lincoln helping within the camp perimeters. She points at them, repeating the word.

"Ah," he muses, " _hodnes_ "

Clarke nods. Like hold maybe. Hold close to your heart. Cute.

The language gets easier for her over the next few days. It is hard but she understands the nuances quick enough – and can guess what is being said if it's said slow enough. She helps the camp pack up in the meantime, asking Ayvan questions as she goes. Bellamy, begrudgingly learns several basic words himself.

And then the day comes they can no longer put off. Clarke writes the letter out herself. Handing it neatly folded to Ayvan who ties it to Gul's talon. The bird is off in an instant.

" _Mochof_ " Clarke says in thanks. She thinks he looks like a proud father.

The reply comes back swift. Barely after midday. She reads that the force is on their way and will be there shortly after the bird. It will take until after nightfall to reach the village by foot. Horse-drawn carts will pull their belongings. Temporary housing has been setup. The letter is signed with perfect, neat scrawl.

If Clarke is disappointed Lexa does not show up for the move, she does not show it. She works quickly, efficiently to get her people ready. They follow hers and Bellamy's orders. Their belongings go ahead without them. A smaller, guiding party is left behind to escort them through the forest.

Clarke walks near the back. Ayvan elects to walk next to her. He is armoured now – thick hides and leathers and the axes at his waist admittedly scare Clarke a bit. But he still speaks with her, teaches her new words and phrases. Bellamy too, when he glides back to speak with them sometime after dusk.

They arrive at the village exactly when Lexa seemed to have predicated. The moon had only just released itself from mountains grasp. She feels her gut reach her throat. It was not a small village and it had been nearly burned to the ground. Houses were skeletons of flaky woods and metals. Fences absolutely demolished, ash scattered in the wind. The shells of the flares lay in the middle of it all, empty now, but a grim reminder.

On the other side there is a camp set up, Clarke knows it was setup on this side so they would be made to walk through the fruits of their destruction. It sobers many of them. They are greeted by a number of women, men, and children. Not soldiers. Farmers. Hunters. Medicine men. Able to fight but not required to.

The villagers are grateful for the help. Wary, same as them, but grateful. More hands means faster repairs – even if none of these children had ever raised a tool in their life.

Her people settle in, pitching tents with the help of locals. Clarke is standing some way off on a small incline. Ayvan is setting up a fire behind her when they hear others approach. He bows his head. Clarke follows suit. Lexa and another woman, dark skinned and short hair, stand side by side. The shorter lady, Clarke thinks, is actually terrifying. And Octavia would like her.

Lexa breaks the stiff silence, "Your journey went well?"

"Yes. _Mochof_. Thank you."

Lexa does not hide her surprise at Clarke having learned their language. Clarke beams at the non-disclosed appraisal.

"It's the only word I really know confidently. Ayvan's been teaching me," the man offers a half smile at his name being mentioned, before returning to his work setting up their camp, "Trying at least."

"My people will respect you more if you learn," she indicates to her left, at the angry short woman, "This is Indra. She is Chief of a place not far from here. And one of my most trusted. She will be overseeing the operations here."

Clarke nods at the woman. Receiving a harsh glare in return. They speak too quickly in Grounder language for Clarke to keep up. She can hear the accusatory tones though. Lexa dismisses her a moment later. Sharp dark eyes glare at Clarke the entire way back into the shadows.

"She does not trust you."

For her part, Clarke smiles, "You do though, and that's what matters."

Lexa does not smile in return, "You should sleep, Clarke. You and your people have much work ahead of you. You will work from short after sunrise until short before sunset. We will provide you with food, water, rest where needed. Your younger, weaker ones will be taken care of."

"Thank you, Lexa," Clarke reiterates for the third time in the past few minutes, "Really, I appreciate this. You could have called war and you didn't."

"You have guns and fire and friends in the sky, an alliance is better suited."

Desperate for more time with the Commander, because there is a constant warm feeling that envelops Clarke when she is around, she bites the inside of her mouth before risking the question, "Will you be back, to oversee us?"

"I have work to do, but I will need to make time. Many of the Chief's and Clan Leader's do not trust you. Seeing you with me might calm their suspicions and fears."

"So, that's a yes?" Clarke asked, twisting her head slightly.

Lexa nodded, "Ayvan will stay with you in my absence. Rest well, Clarke."

She was gone as quick as she had come, dark hair and armour blending in with the forest in seconds.

" _Em…hogeda pis?"_ Clarke asked slowly, sitting down around the small, warmth of the fire.

She doesn't need to hope what she is correct, because after a blank few seconds of Ayvan staring at her like a deer in headlights, he lets out a loud, belly rumbling laugh. A hand clutched to his gut as he nearly doubles over.

" _Sha_ " he replied, nodding, wiping a tear from his eye, " _Sha heda hogeda pis._ "

Clarke smiles; taking the piece of offered dried meat. The camp below was alive with excitement and talking. Languages slowly being exchanged and taught. The younger ones carefully treading around playing with each other. Clarke likes this. A part of her that had been wound up since she landed her suddenly felt untwisted. It felt. Different. Good.

Right. Everything in that moment just felt _right_.

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL NOTES:**

" _Em…hogeda pis?" =_ butchered version of "Is she always so pissed off?"

" _Sha heda hogeda pis._ " = "Yes, yes she is always pissed off"

the rest of the Trigedasleng should be pretty self explanatory or already have meanings in the story itself.


	9. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER:** these disclaimers are useless. so here's a fun fact about me. my favourite movie is the devil wears prada.

 **NOTES:** the delay is because I'm moving town and going to college. fun times for all. also can I say how much I enjoy writing scenes with Ayvan? he's a gem.

a really long chapter. close to 5k words. kills the man. at least you got a large (shitty) update after a big break.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8 – PENNY FOR YOUR SOUL**

Even with winter approaching them from the mountains, their peaks now snow-capped and dominating the horizon; the lowlands and forests were still sweltering hot. The nights were as cold as ice, but during the day, the sun ate at them from the sky.

Clarke had borne the brunt of everyone's frustration for the past few weeks. The first days being the hardest; god they had complained up a storm – we're tired, we're hot, this is heavy, why can't we go back? Clarke had had enough by the third day and she and Bellamy sat everyone down before works start and reasoned with them. There was nothing left for them out here, and this was their fault, they would make this work.

It got better after that. Slowly and surely as the days crept on, the protesting voices quietened and eventually ceased to exist at all. Every member of the hundred found their place amongst the village, Indra had weeded them out slowly, placing them where they excelled most at.

The stronger ones worked on clearing and construction, learning the ways of wood and steel. Other, younger ones, weaker ones, were sent to tend to the crops and livestock some ways down the valley. A small group, of which Raven had found herself falling in line with, worked logistically; their knowledge brought much to the table. And an even smaller group, courtesy of a persistent Octavia, found themselves practicing with soldiers, warriors, and huntsman.

Clarke herself helped tend to the injured, learned the ways of their medicine man and taught them hers in return. In her downtime she worked with Ayvan, a jack of all trades apparently. But he taught her their language as they worked. And in turn she humoured him by drawing pictures late into the evening.

She knew though, even after the protests of her people had quietened, that they still felt the pain and stress of this society. Many of them were still very weak. Years of living in space, confined to their jail cells; never having to lift more than a plate of food. And yet here they were, working in twos and threes to accomplish what the Grounders could accomplish with one. At night being treated for sunburn and tired muscles.

The villagers though, despite their initial hesitancy, were grateful for the help, however inept it might sometimes be. Clarke heard a damn near constant stream of broken-English flowing from them. Supportive and cheering. And now, weeks in, many of them got on well enough as if they had never been separate to begin with. Chatting to each other as best they could, using hands and pictures in the dirt where their words failed them.

Clarke rises to her feet, wiping a dirty arm against sweaty brow. Her hair sticks uncomfortably to her neck. Eyes burning as she stares up into the unforgiving midday sun. Behind her, Ayvan has stopped work too. He didn't look nearly as tired or uncomfortable as her.

"Water," he speaks a moment later. A cold metal jar pressed against Clarke's reddening shoulders.

She takes it gratefully, muttering a thanks in Trigedasleng, a word she has learned meant their language; tree people slang. As she pauses to drink from the container she lets her eyes drag across the village below. It was well and truly underway now. Most of the houses had been repaired and were standing again. New ones now being built to house her and her hundred.

Of course that was another thing she had to get used to. They were hers now. Indra had demanded the Sky People have a leader. Hesitant eyes had looked her way. And before she even realized what had happened she was pulled to the front.

A sigh. She catches Octavia's eye down by the barracks. Hair braided and eyes darkened with ash. She looked as much a Grounder as the men around her. Clarke feels her chest well up with pride.

" _Yu strik sis benon laik gona_ " Ayvan speaks slowly, standing beside her; his form large enough to cast a temporary shadow. A reprieve. His slowness in speaking is deliberate. He had learned Clarke took better to his language if he spoke slowly, and he quite enjoyed giving her the time of day.

This time though, Clarke answers quickly. _Strik sis and gona_. Little-sister and warrior. She could figure out what the rest meant.

"Yeah," she says, grateful for the brief relief he has given her, "She admires your people, Indra especially, I'm glad she took her under her wing," He cocks an eyebrow, she cracks a small grin before continuing, " _Sha em yuj_ "

He grunts his approval at her statement; standing a moment longer as her sentient shade before indicating behind them. They had a mile of woodwork left to do before the sun retreated beyond the cliffs. He was a good man, and a kind mentor and guardian, but he demanded as much from Clarke as Indra did the hundred. So Clarke often worked until her muscles ached and her hands were red and raw.

It was sometime later in the evening; after the day's heat had passed, and the sky had turned lovely shades of orange and pink; that Clarke felt Ayvan perk up. His eyes were not on their work, or on her, but a distant blot in the sky.

Clarke strained to see. Squinting and craning her neck. The blot was moving fast. Very fast. A bird. She ducks. Ayvan for his part remains as stoic as ever, a gloved arm already held out for the creature. His grin however makes Clarke flush in embarrassment.

This beast is large. Massive even. Much larger than the usual mess of black feathers that sat upon his shoulder. And this one was rich, vibrant shades of browns and greys. It's yellow lined beak, razor sharp and pointed, was nearly as big as her hand. And its talons large and powerful. Sinking into the leather like it was nothing. Clarke thinks it's wonderful.

" _Heya_ Peta" Ayvan says, stroking the underside of the bird's neck before detaching the rolled up parchment from its talon. He unfurls it with his spare hand, eyes darting across the text.

Clarke stands. Staring. The bird stares right back. When she twists her head, it twists with her. Warm eyes inspecting every inch of the strange golden haired person.

"Lexa's?" she questions. Hesitant to approach any closer. Not scared. But not trusting either.

Ayvan nods. Another stroke to the bird's neck and a gentle whisper before he sends it back to the skies. Clarke watches the massive form until its colour is lost in the evening clouds. When she turns, Ayvan is watching her. The parchment, she can see, has been written by Lexa's hand. Trigedasleng. Not English.

" _Heda_ _komba raun_ ," he says, waving the parchment slightly. His next words however make Clarke beam, not for their content no, but for the tongue they are spoken in, "To-nigh'. Heda to-nigh'. Yu…Uhhh…Kleen," he motions splashing water at his face.

English. Well. Vague English. Apparently he was learning as much as he was teaching. Clarke can't hold the grin from her face, " _Nau_?" she replies.

Ayvan nods again. His cheeks, though hidden in dusk, are clearly tinted pink, "Go, _ai ste_ "

Clarke stretches on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. The same kiss she had once given her own father. He flushes even harder, swatting her away, standing as tall as he can and indicating down the valley, "Kleen. Good. Go."

On the way to the bathing area, a tented building housing a constantly warmed supply of water; Clarke realizes she forgot to ask the man _why_ Lexa was coming to the village tonight. Despite her assurance that she would return to visit, the Commander had not been seen for weeks. And if she was being truthful, Clarke could actually feel a seed of nervousness settle in her stomach.

Pushing past the tents outer barriers and skirting around a group of chatting Grounder women, Clarke gratefully took a bucket of the warmed water. This tent was ingenious. A central area for collection and deposition of water, and further in, settled between two dug-out drainage pipes, were sets of small wooden stools.

You took your bucket and cloth and stripped down in the common area, setting your clothes aside. Your chosen stool acted as a sanitary place you could perch while you cleaned as best as you could manage. Fellow Grounders would help unbraid and wash your hair. They even had tooth brushes.

Clarke quickly settled into the routine, the building was mostly empty right now, many of the people were either still at work or trickling into the village slowly. The small group that was there set to work on helping her, enthused about chatting with the "Skai Heda". It felt nice. Being here. Being tended to by friends. Soft fingers pushing through her hair as they helped rid it of the day's dirt.

* * *

"God sweetie, how do you two possibly get this dirty," a voice speaks, somewhere ahead of Clarke.

When she opens her eyes. She is not in the bathhouse. She is not undressed but she is also not sure if her body even exists. She cannot look down. Her eyes are glued to the scene in front of her. Hazy and scratchy as if on a post-war film.

It is her. Or what looks like her. She is maybe 7. An equally as young girl, but with wild dark curls; and who reminds her somewhat of Octavia, is seated on her left. The disembodied voice is speaking to them both in motherly, chiding tones. They are both filthy. Mud caked hair and grubby little fingers.

The darker one turns to look towards at Clarke. She feels the air leave her chest. Green eyes are searching. As if they know Clarke is there but cannot see. They lock gazes. And suddenly Clarke is falling as if the scene never existed at all. And when she looks up from the bottomless pit, she sees green eyes peering down at her.

* * *

She starts into reality. The giggling at her sides tell her she fell asleep. A woman she recognizes as the medicine-man's wife smiles at her, offering a wink, nodding at the water bucket and motioning for Clarke to rinse. Clarke does. The other women leave her side to clean themselves up too.

Clarke cannot shake the feeling of falling. Her hands tremble as she struggles to rinse her hair and body. Her breath comes in shuddering bursts. Those were Lexa's eyes. And she knows, somehow, that what she had seen was not a dream; but neither was it this reality. It unnerves her.

Something tugs in her chest.

Outside there is a small commotion, and Clarke is quick to dress. Her furs will have to do, she had spent too much time dazed in the bath. She knows by the sound of the excited chatter that Lexa has arrived. Or is arriving. The talk is too fast for her to catch more than a few words.

Bellamy is at her side looking filthy, his hands are red and raw from working metal all day. She gives him a disapproving look for not wearing gloves.

"Their Commander's here, in the war room," he says, and Clarke can see the guilt on his face for being visually scolded, "Do I want to know why?"

Clarke shrugs, her hair is still wet as she reaches up to tousle it dry. The night's frigid air is settling in and she doesn't wish to be left frostbitten, "Ayvan received word earlier, I was just told I better be clean."

Octavia joins them a moment later, pushing through the crowd as they clamber around her to get a glimpse of their leader. She looks as puzzled as Bellamy, questioning eyes raking over Clarke, "Indra sent me to fetch you, you too Bellamy"

Clarke steels herself. The anxiety from earlier blooms in her stomach. She feels vaguely sick. But she follows the girl nonetheless. She doesn't push through the crowd, they part for her. And when she approaches the large concrete building, the guards there part for her too. Octavia waits outside, hands held behind her back. She is not welcome within.

The room is mostly dark. Long shadows are cast by the fires burning either side. In the centre, surrounding a large oak table, skewed with maps and models, is a small assembly of men and women Clarke has never met. Lexa heads up the other end. Arms folded. A large man, though smaller than Ayvan, stands as equally threatening beside her.

"Clarke, you finally join us," Lexa says, tone cold and sarcastic.

She feels out of place here. She can sense Bellamy feels the same. He keeps a brave face though. Even when the disgusting tattooed man to her left sneers at him, Bellamy stares straight forward. Unflinching.

"Apologies," Clarke finally replies, "Had we been made aware ahead of time this was being called, we would have been better prepared."

Diplomacy. Her mother at least taught her that much. And it wasn't a complete lie. Ayvan had never specified Lexa's reason for return. Clarke took the moment of stunned silence to quickly observe the other attendees. Men with blue tattoos and heavy furs. Sand dusted leathers and wind swept hair. Other clan leaders likely.

As Lexa opens her mouth to speak, Clarke beats her to the punch, "Why are we here?"

Lexa visibly scowls. Clarke knows she is not used to this kind of insubordination. But her people have not been properly inducted into the clans; and Clarke is taking that for all it means. They are allies. Not a common people.

"There is a place, some ways north of here, called _Maunde_ , whose people are tunnelled underground. We are at war with them," Lexa explains, all eyes in the room are dutifully on her, "And have so been for many years. You have seen the acid storms, yes?"

Clarke nods. Yes they had been acquainted with the fog. Her hand reaches up to touch the ring around her neck. She knows Lexa has seen the movement, and by the furrowing of her brow she is curious, but she continues nonetheless.

"The storms are the _Maunon_ 's work. It cannot work all the time, and requires long periods of rest. If you have seen the storms, you have seen the suffering that follows. They use the storms to kill us, destroy our crops, and maim our little ones. But it also acts as a barrier. Cuts groups of us off at a time."

"Why would they do that? You can just return when the storm dies down"

"Because," says the tattooed man to her left, his voice is as disgusting as his looks, "They got n take us as Reaper's"

Bellamy speaks this time, his voice laced with confusion, "Reapers? Men of death?"

"Guards, warriors," Lexa clarifies, a sharp glare at the unnamed man quiets him again, "They are strong, brutal, savage warriors of the _Maunon_. They take us, torture us, and we are never heard from again."

"Why are you telling us this?" Clarke asks. She already knows the answer of course. An explanation coupled with the arrival and presence of other clan leaders? They are going to war. Or planning to go to war. Her people have guns, and the knowledge to use them, something the Grounders lack. If these _Maunon_ can control a storm she has no doubt they too have weapons.

Lexa just serves to confirm her suspicions, "After your people are finished here, we will be hosting a meeting of all twelve clans in our capital. We will be requesting a small party of Sky People to join us. You and the _Maunon_ are similar in many ways, and the belief that you will be essential in a war with them has already spread."

Bellamy can speak before Clarke is able, his eyes are defiant, hands curled at his side, "No. No our people aren't built for war. They're just kids. So no."

A squabble breaks out. The other men and women are arguing. Hands gesturing in their direction and back at Lexa. Bellamy is yelling back at them. He can't understand what they are saying but that does not stop him from trying to make his point.

Lexa is not looking at him though. Green eyes are focused solely on Clarke. For eyes that had been up to this point hard and unforgiving, Clarke is surprised when she sees a flash of desperation.

When she speaks, all eyes turn to her, "There are more of us, still in the sky. Those that are here right now, they can't fight," one of the heavy furred men goes to speak, a glare from Lexa hushes him instantly, "But those up there? They can. We have soldiers, guards, men and women experienced in combat. If we could build a special tower, we could talk with them, figure out a way for them to follow us down."

" _Heda_ , we cannot trust these people," a woman says from somewhere in room, Clarke only has eyes for green and cannot look away.

She implores, begs Lexa to understand her position here. And after a long moments silence, Lexa finally nods. It is small but it is enough to grant them approval. Clarke releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"After the town is rebuilt to Indra's satisfaction, we will aid you in building this tower. In any way we can. However, Clarke of the Sky People, your others, those not yet here, will not be welcome among us. Your hundred have proved useful and good allies, but you are outcasts with nowhere else to go. _You_ will work with your people, but they are not welcome in our settlements."

Clarke nods. Beside her Bellamy looks like he's about to pop a vein. But he does not speak out of turn. She know she's going to get it later. But for now she's confident in her decision. At least, she hopes she is.

Lexa looks to the other leaders. A nod of the head, a dismissal. They leave without question. But their angry gazes toward Clarke cannot be stopped, and she does not try to stop them. Bellamy takes one last look at Clarke before heading out too; she can just hear Octavia bombard him with questions before the door screeches shut.

Her eyes are drawn away from Lexa finally, she is chatting with the large man behind her in quiet voices. Too quiet for her to hear. Instead she spends her time studying the table before her. Examining the maps and diagrams. They are mostly hand drawn, but one in particular catches her eye. It is faded and worn beyond all the others. It is a top down view of a large facility. In the upper left a large 'MWEOC' is printed on the page, 'Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center'.

Clarke feels her heart skip a beat. The Maunon. Mountain Men. The place she had been directed to her by Mother. At war with the Grounders. She feels sick.

"They're the only maps of the place we have," Lexa is nearly beside her, several feet away. She had moved silently while Clarke had been busy, "This one we found in rubble of a building in our capital," her finger jabs at the worn parchment.

"We know of this place already," Clarke says, she can feel the bile reach the back of her throat; she swallows against it, "We were told…I was told, to head there. It _should have_ been abandoned. Although, I suppose we also assumed the world had long since been abandoned too."

Lexa is silent this time. When Clarke chances a look at her, she finds the green eyes studying the features of Clarke's face. She watches the questions flit through them, and just when she thinks Lexa has gathered enough courage to ask one, they disappear completely. She is faced yet again with an empty stare.

"Your work here is coming along well. It changed many of the other clan's perceptions of you and yours. You've done well, Clarke."

"Don't do that," she replies, Lexa has the right mind to look taken aback, "Don't hide behind whatever wall you just put up. Ask whatever you want."

Her own voice surprises her. She has never spoken to anyone like that, ever. And she knows she has no right to ask Lexa to do these things. And yet…

Lexa does not look shocked by the end of it. Instead she looks almost regretful. Her eyes turn to look elsewhere in the room, drumming her fingers against the table.

"I must apologize for putting you in this position, Clarke. This came without warning. I should have sent word days ago."

"Yeah," Clarke agrees, "But it's in the past. I thought I handled it well. Turns out I'm not such a bad Queen after all."

It's a joke. Lexa at least cracks a half smile at it. Clarke considers that an accomplishment.

"Will you be staying long?"

"Two days. I will organize the tower build with Ayvan and Indra. Then I must return to Polis. There's still a great deal of organizing that needs to be done."

Clarke is about to ask another question when a cough interrupts them from the door. Ayvan stands silently, hands behind his back. Lexa waves him forward with an amused shake of the head. When he is beside Clarke he stops and offers her a warm smile.

"He's here to take you to dinner. Indra would have passed the order onto him."

"You're not coming?" Clarke questions.

"I usually eat alone."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Lexa scowls. Ayvan watches on with rapt fascination. Eyes darting between them.

"Ayvan will not have cooked enough for us both"

" _Yu makefu dina gon Heda?"_ Clarke directs her question at the man, Lexa seems genuinely surprised at this. If her sudden gasp of air is anything to go by. She very subtly puffs her chest out at the feeling.

Ayvan for his part just simply nods in agreement.

"See," Clarke says, turning back to Lexa, "Now, are you coming?"

Lexa has pushed herself into a metaphorical corner. And Clarke knows it. If she replies with no, she is being rude to an emissary, and that would smear her reputation. But if she replies yes, she is losing whatever this pseudo war with Clarke is. Either way, Clarke wins. And she's pretty sure Ayvan is over there being proud right about now.

Eventually, the Commander caves and gestures out the door. Ayvan leads silently. The two girls walk several feet apart. It is a quiet walk up to their small camp. The majority of the town are busy feasting and pay the women no attention. The only one to follow them is the large man standing guard before. He brings up the rear and is deathly silent.

When they sit down to eat, Ayvan is the one that starts conversation. Talking with the other man. Clarke catches his name as Gustus. Looking between them now, she's sure they are brothers. Her focus however does not remain on them for long, because Lexa is staring at her from beside the fire. She doesn't look away when Clarke catches her, and Clarke knows her mind is elsewhere.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Clarke questions.

Lexa looks confused, "A penny?"

"It's just…a saying. An idiom," this just seems to confuse the girl more, Clarke quickly tries to fix the situation, "We use it when we're wanting to know what's on someone's mind."

"Oh. Nothing," she pauses, Clarke can see the question there again; this time however, with food and mead in the mix, it's let out, "Your necklace."

Clarke instinctively reaches for it, pulling it free from her furs. The deer memento and ring swing back at her, coloured gold by the firelight. Lexa is staring at it and even though it is dark and cold and she is bathed in orange glow, Clarke can still clear as day see the colour of her eyes as she studies the trinkets. A hand reaches out to touch before quickly realizing its mistake and withdrawing.

"Where did you get those?"

"The deer, it was hanging from the tree your people strung my friend up on," Lexa has the decency to look partly ashamed for that, "I assume one of you must have put it there. And the ring was buried in a car stuck down an embankment. We hid in it to avoid the acid storms."

Lexa hums. Her eyes do not leave the trinkets. Clarke knows there is more to say here. That Lexa knows something she does not. But her belly is fully and her eyes are heavy. She has worked a long day and she is exhausted. When silence drapes over them again, and the only sounds are Ayvan and Gustus laughing at a joke and the forest well behind them. Clarke can feel her body submitting to sleep.

"Sleep Clarke," Lexa says in a quiet voice, softer than Clarke has ever heard it. Affectionate and protective.

And Clarke feels oh so safe right now. Safer than perhaps she has her entire life. A part of her croons in delight at this. And when she huddles down into her furs and lets her eyes fall shut, she imagines someone touching her hair and whispering sweet things. Sleep comes easier now than it has since she fell from the sky.

* * *

"I've seen this before," Clarke says, reaching out to touch the carved deer head. It is small and smells of pine. The one handing it to her is grinning. They found each other early in this world.

"I made it for you," the voice says and Clarke drags her eyes from the object to the person. Dark hair and green eyes. They are dressed in furs and leathers and their name is Alexa. They are the leader of a group of Grounders and in this world, Clarke did not fall from the sky. She was born down here and she will die down here.

"When?" Clarke asks, taking the offered trinket in her hands.

Alexa smiles as she watches her twist it around in her fingers, inspecting every inch of it.

"Many worlds ago. Do you remember fifth grade camp?"

"Oh my god," Clarke is laughing now, the fire crackles in front of them, "Yeah. God you were a boy then, huh? You had bracers. How did it get here?"

Alexa looks down at this. Clarke can see she is puzzled, fighting something in herself. When she answers it is slow and unsure, "I…don't know. This world it…I found it when I was a child. Before I found you."

Clarke is in the midst of tying it around her neck when she pauses. Her eyes study Alexa and she feels dread settle in her stomach. _Before I found you_. Not the other way around. No that wasn't right. She found Alexa. She always finds the green eyes. She made them remember. Didn't she?

Her hands shake as she settles them back in her lap. The necklace hangs heavy around her throat. She can see Alexa wringing her hands together; refusing to look her way, "What do you mean, before _you_ found me?"

Alexa looks close to tears. A haze builds up behind her eyes and she shakes her head. Clarke can see the movement of a jaw biting a lip, "Alexa," she says before she is cut off.

"Something's wrong Clarke," the voice says, cracked and broken and desperate, "Something went wrong and I don't know how to fix it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Clarke cannot calm her down when Alexa buries her head in her hands, balling her hands into fists in dark locks of hair. She is sobbing hard and heavy and Clarke curls around her in attempt to soothe. It only serves to make the other girl cry harder, repeating the apology over and over again.

"I'll fix it Clarke, I'll fix it, I promise I'll find what I'm doing wrong and I'll fix it," Alexa says when she finally looks up, green eyes rimmed red, "Have faith in me."

Clarke doesn't know what to say. She is confused and her chest hurts. It hurts so bad; as if something is clawing at her heart and tugging and ripping. And suddenly it is gone and replaced with a burning. She tries to speak but fluid floods her mouth. When she looks down she is met with a knife six inches buried in her chest.

"I'll fix it Clarke, I'll fix it."

She falls in a heaped mess, gurgling and clutching and cursing inwardly as she feels herself slipping. She wants to tell Alexa that she believes her. But the words are choked back. Darkness creeps at the edge of her vision. She feels a flutter of a kiss pressed to her forehead. She is gone before she can register it.

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL NOTES**

The harder translations are here if you wanted to know!

" _Yu strik sis benon laik gona_ " = Your little sister determined to become a warrior ((benon is a word I created because a word that meant ' _determined'_ or ' _intent on'_ did not exist in the current dictionaries I could find. Therefore. Benon is _bent on_. Bent on doing (action). In this case. "Bent on becoming a warrior". Make sense? Good)).

" _Sha em yuj"_ = Yeah, she's strong

" _Heda komba raun_ " = The Commander is coming here. Followed by a butchered "tonight".

" _Yu makefu dina gon Heda?"_ = Again this is another set of words I've had to pull out of my ass because really, the dictionary is not that large. Exactly it translates "You make food dinner for Heda". However, it's better translation would be, "Have you made enough dinner for Heda too?" Because language works that way. _Makefu = Make Food (To Cook). Dina = Dinner_.


End file.
